


Saving Grace

by LaBelladoneX



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Romance, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 19:50:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaBelladoneX/pseuds/LaBelladoneX
Summary: "Why do you come here, Charlie? Hmm? Your dragon sanctuary has a really high tech medical facility, acccording to Pansy. So why do you insist on being treated at St Mungo's? Do you enjoy wasting my time?"Quills & Parchment's Healer and Mediwizard  One-Shot Competition #9Winner: Best Workplace Smut, Best HumourRunner-Up: Fan Favourite (Joint), Best Banter, Best Character Chemistry, Best Execution of Prompt





	Saving Grace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LightofEvolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightofEvolution/gifts).



> Remember I said it will always be Dramione because they were simply meant to be — just like Jack and Sally? First of all, go check out The Nightmare Before Christmas if you don’t get that reference and, secondly, blame LightofEvolution entirely for this Charmione. It was her idea!
> 
> I’ve included so many hidden references to dragons and dragon lore — which was fun to do — although the one I laughed at most, hardly anyone has noticed (rolls eyes!) Also, don’t use any of the sore throat cures mentioned without the proper research as I twiddled with them to suit the story. 
> 
> Thanks to my beta In Dreams — my knowledge of Hogwarts’ classrooms would be nothing without you!

 

“Healer Granger,” one of the new interns panted as she ran along the corridor towards Hermione. “You’re needed in Casualty straight away!”

“I’m finished my shift, Freya,” Hermione frowned. “I’ve a meeting with Director Grendell in ten minutes.”

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” the younger girl lowered her voice. “The patient is asking for you. Well, not so much asking as shouting blue bloody murder.”

“ _ Fine _ . Who’s broken what now?”

Freya laughed, turning with Hermione to walk back towards Casualty. “Surprisingly, it’s not Harry, Ron, Draco, Blaise,  _ or _ Theo. So no Quidditch, darts, or karaoke injuries. It’s one of Ron’s older brothers; the tattooed one. I don’t—” 

Blood drained from Hermione’s face and her step faltered slightly. “Charlie,” she whispered. “The tattooed one is Charlie.”

“Right,” Freya replied, not really caring which Weasley was which; her sights were on a certain Professor of Herbology who was a regular visitor to St Mungo’s Janus Thickey ward. “He was transferred by Portkey an hour ago with severe burns on his—”

Hermione didn’t hear anything else; she was already running.

* * *

 

“Thank  _ fuck _ ,” his deep voice growled as she approached his bed. “Get me out of these bloody things.”

There he was — all rugged looks and snarling tattoos. Charlie Weasley was different to his brothers; he was broader than Bill — with just as many scars — although Charlie loved his own as he considered each one a trophy. He was taller than Fred and George but shared their streak of mischievousness, more confident than Ron would ever be, and just about everything Percy wasn’t. He did, however, share his sister’s fiery temper. 

He was lying on a narrow bed which could hardly be seen under his muscular bulk. His Muggle heavy metal band T-shirt was ripped open — the collection of tattooed dragons roaring and spitting flames across his tanned skin — and his long, dark red hair splayed out across the white pillow beneath him. He was everything Hermione wanted but had reluctantly accepted she wouldn’t have. Why would he have any interest in her boring looks and bookish ways? He lived on adrenaline and Biohazard coffee; she loved cryptic crosswords and sipped chamomile tea. 

“Charlie,” she breathed, trying to control her emotions. “I need to read your charts. Try to remain calm, okay?”

“I don’t need to be  _ here! _ ” He struggled to sit up and began tearing bandages away from his shoulder. 

_ “Stop!”  _ Hermione ordered, dropping his file onto the bed and grabbing his hands. She seemed so tiny beside him but, if there was one thing about Hermione Granger, it was the power of her voice; she could run rings around Molly Weasley if she wanted to. 

Charlie grunted, lowering his arms and breathing heavily through his nose.  _ “Fine.” _

Hermione turned to the other Healer who had been completely ignored by Charlie up until now. “Healer Longwitton, can you fill me in?”

The Geordie Healer — on secondment from St. Martha’s in Northumbria — nodded, glaring at the impatient patient before she began.

“I divvina, pet. Bugger’s in a fettle. That gadgie's gannin' proper radgie, like."

Another patient across the room dropped his bed pan, the crash reverberating around the large room.

“Thank you,” Hermione replied, after a moment. “That explains… it.”

Charlie, however, glared right back at the unintelligible woman as he continued to mutter under his breath.

"Divvin' shoot ya gob off, man,” Healer Longwitton spat before heading over to the patient now soaked in his own wee — that happened to be a rather nasty shade of puce. "Where's ya netty, pet?”

Hermione — in full professional mode — bit down on the top of Charlie’s file to refrain from laughing. He caught her eye and winked, sending her hormones into overdrive.

“It’s just a burn, Pages,” he softened his tone. “Not like I haven’t had one before.”

Her heart somersaulted at the sound of Charlie’s nickname for her. He had called Hermione  _ Pages _ since they first met at The Burrow when she was twelve — and buried in a book — and he was an eighteen year old apprentice to George Balaur, one of the best dragon tamers in Romania. 

The crush she had had on him since then had escalated into a pining, unrequited love that caused Hermione to constantly compare the few boys she’d snogged at Hogwarts to the man in front of her at every turn. As for the two occasions when the young hopefuls actually got to see the inside of her knickers, she’d closed her eyes and thought only of him. They were doomed from the start.

“I know you have,” Hermione agreed, blinking herself back to reality and rereading his chart. “But this one seems to be different somehow; the skin has burned as normal but isn’t reacting as it should to our usual treatments. I take it that’s why you were sent here.”

Charlie shrugged, instantly regretting the movement. “I guess,” he muttered, averting his gaze. “Pages, I need to get back to the Sanctuary.”

“Charlie, I can’t—”

“ _ Please. _ Give me something to tide me over. I  _ need _ to get back.”

Hermione was taken aback by his insistence. 

“I can’t let you go without knowing your burn will heal so give me a few minutes, okay? I have something in mind. Promise me you’ll stay until I get back.”

He took a deep breath before nodding. “Just don’t be too long.” _ Was that a tremor of panic? _

Hermione walked over to the exit, turning back once more to glance at Charlie. He was hunched over on the side the bed, his head hanging low as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Something wasn’t right.

* * *

 

She was back within fifteen minutes carrying a concoction of plantain juice and comfrey.

“I can apply it now or you can do it yourself,” she commented, handing him the small glass container.  _ Please do it yourself — I don’t think I’d stop shaking if you asked me to touch you. _

Charlie took the creamy substance, his fingers sparking off Hermione’s as he did so. They both tried to ignore the connection and quickly glanced in opposite directions. He stood, turning towards the nearest Floo exit. 

“Pages, one more thing. What do you give that mangy cat of yours if it gets a sore throat?”

_ “Pardon?” _

“Crudskank… whatever the fuck it’s called,” he answered. “Does it get sore throats?”

Hermione frowned. “Em… yeah, occasionally.  _ Crookshanks _ gets irritations in his throat from eating fish bones. I’ve told our local butcher but—”

“Pages, I’ve gotta  _ go _ !”

“Oh… sorry. I give him a few drops of sage and echinacea mixed with warm water. Why?”

“Not important.” Charlie stepped into the Floo and vanished in a flash of green.

“Merlin, help me,” Hermione moaned, heading to her much delayed appointment with Director Grendell.

* * *

 

Four days later, she had just finished reattaching an arse cheek when her name was called over the intercom system requesting her immediate presence in Casualty. Sighing loudly, Hermione wandlessly cleaned her hands before reminding her patient  _ not _ to attempt to remove hemorrhoids with a sharpened fish knife...  _ again _ .

She could hear Charlie Weasley from two corridors away.

“No, you fucking  _ won’t _ touch me. If she isn’t here within the next two minutes, I’ll ram that clipboard so far up your—”

“Charles Arthur Weasley! Don’t you  _ dare _ finish that sentence.”

“Thank _ fuck _ —”

“And nobody appreciates your foul language around here.  _ Behave _ .”

Charlie closed his eyes, wincing with the pain of yet another burn. This time it was his right hand and the diagnosis was most definitely third degree burns. The bones were peeking out from two fingers as the skin blackened and flaked away, causing the staff on call to turn away and eyeball each other in a silent battle of  _ you heal it! No, you heal it! _

Hermione’s breakfast was also most anxious to join them at this stage. 

Quickly, she cast an anti-nausea spell before summoning the relevant bandages and soothing balms. Without commenting further, she began to chant over the blistering skin and observed it reforming and slowly knitting itself back together. He didn’t say a word but Hermione was acutely aware of Charlie’s eyes on her face and she found herself silently thanking Merlin for the blush-concealing makeup she had applied that morning — in between the healing chants.

“You look different,” Charlie commented when she had finished. “Why are you made up?”

“I’m not  _ made up _ ,” Hermione replied curtly. “I’m just going out with Pansy straight after work. What’s it to you?”

“I don’t like it.”

_ “Excuse me?”  _ Hermione stepped back, having finished her chanting. She picked up the lavender balm and began to unscrew the copper lid. “What business is it of yours—”

“You’re beautiful as you are,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Why disguise yourself?”

She couldn’t reply; to hear those words from the man she had had a major crush on for almost ten years shocked Hermione to the core. All she could do was stare at him as her heart pounded in her chest. Charlie looked as relaxed as usual — well, as relaxed as one with third degree burns  _ can _ look — before opening his mouth to continue. 

“Pages, I—”

“Healer Granger! There you are,” Healer Bakunawa hurried over towards them. “We have a G.S.W. coming in. Can you supervise the interns?”

Charlie quirked an eyebrow. “Gunshot wound in magical Britain?” They had access to the internet in Romania and he had recently discovered an amazing Muggle moving story called Starsky and Hutch.

“I wish,” Hermione lamented, refocusing on the present — she’d revisit his comment when she’d have some time alone. “Genitalia septic warts. I’d better go.”

She placed the lavender balm down on the bed beside Charlie.

“I’ll call one of the other Healers to administer the balm and prescribe your painkillers. Try to be more careful, Charlie.”

Hermione turned, nodding at Healer Bakunawa to lead the way. 

“Pages, wait,” Charlie called. “One more thing.”

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat — what was he going to say next? Her knickers were in danger of dropping from the weight of her arousal anytime she was near him and his earlier comment had her in dire need of a change.

“Your drops didn’t work. What else can I use?”

“What—”

“I used the sage and echinacea, like you suggested. I need something else.”

Hermione opened her mouth but he knew by the look on her face that she wanted more information. He raised his healthy hand to stop her ongoing flow of questioning. 

“Please, Pages, don’t ask me. I can’t… I just need another solution.”

She thought for a moment, unhappy that he wasn’t more forthcoming. 

“Well, we have Throat Cloak Tea; a patented medicine here in the hospital. It’s got liquorice root, elm inner bark, marshmallow root, and extract of—”

“Pages… the tea? Please?”

“Charlie, I can’t just  _ give _ it to you. It’s especially produced to be administered here at St Mungo’s. The patient has to be attending.”

“Then give me something else,” he urged. 

“Charlie, what—”

“I can’t, Pages. Please… trust me. I can’t tell you. But I need your help.”

Hermione knew in her heart that she’d burn down St Mungo’s for Charlie Weasley, even though her inquiring mind was itching for an explanation. 

“Have you had the throat checked? Is it raw looking on the inside?”

“You could say that.”

“Well, what about boiled sweets? Something hard to suck on.”

Charlie quirked an eyebrow as he grinned mischievously.  _ “Really?” _

“What? I… Charlie Weasley! You… you  _ pig! _ ” 

No amount of Felicity Fair’s Fetching Foundation could stop the vibrant blush from erupting across Hermione’s cheeks. 

“Sorry,” he smiled, causing her heart to palpitate wildly. “Couldn’t resist.”

“Yes, well… anyway, I’ve got to go. Unless you can give me more information, Charlie, you know I can’t provide the proper treatment. Try the boiled sweets.”

She ran off towards her septic warts.

* * *

 

A few hours later, Hermione was heading towards Diagon Alley and muttering under her breath that her behaviour around Charlie Weasley was getting out of hand and turning her into a bloody Puff. The Magic Dragon pub beckoned her forward and, with a rueful smile, she vowed to put her problems on the back burner and drink the night away with Pansy Parkinson. Charlie Weasley was not going to be mentioned.  _ Not once _ . Nope.

“What am I going to do, Pans?” she wailed into her fourth cocktail of the evening. They’d already tried the Afterlife, the Black Mass, and a Corn Dolly — all prepared by Pete the barman. Next on the menu was a Dragon’s Blood; Hermione didn’t stand a chance. 

“This is going on ten years, Hermione. It’s not doing you any good!” Pansy pushed the smoking drink towards her friend. “You’ve had no lasting relationships because you compare everyone to Charlie. I’m sure Theo still carries a torch for you!”

“You married the love of your life, Pans,” Hermione moaned. “Mine doesn’t even know I exist.”

“Then why does he insist you treat him every time he ends up at St Mungo’s?” Pansy winced as she swallowed the burning cocktail. It took a moment for her eyes to return to their normal shade of green.

“That’s just because he knows me,” Hermione argued weakly. 

A perfectly shaped dark eyebrow raised as Pansy pursed her lips.

“Seriously? That’s what you believe? Hermione Granger… you’re an idiot.”

“What? No! I—”

“You are! You’re a bloody idiot! Have you ever been to the Rodna Dragon Sanctuar where Charlie works, Hermione? Do you know what they have there?”

“No,” Hermione replied sheepishly. “No, I don’t.”

“They have the best magical hospital in Eastern Europe! When we were on our honeymoon, Harry made arrangements to visit the Sanctuar before we travelled on to Italy and Charlie took time off to show us around —  _ including _ the high tech medical and research facility. Hermione, there is  _ no need _ for him to attend St Mungo’s. No need at all!”

The Brightest Witch of Our Age was speechless. 

“Do you think—”

“ _ Do I think?  _ Hermione,  _ of course _ I think!” Pansy rolled her eyes. “I know it’s been two years since we were in Romania but I remember how he spoke about his family, his love for the dragons — blah, blah, blah. But I especially remember how his face lit up when he spoke about you.”

“Why was he talking about me?”

“You produced a balm for soothing dry skin as part of your entry exam for St Mungo’s, remember?” She continued at Hermione’s nod. “Molly had a drawer full of the stuff at The Burrow and gave some to Charlie during one of his visits home. He used it to heal the scales of a Ironbelly who had developed a rare form of Dermatitis. He spoke as if the sun shone right out of your arse.”

“Okay, so he was grateful for something I did. That doesn’t mean he likes me.”

“Hermione, I know the look of a man in love. I’m lucky enough to have experienced it and see it every day. I can tell you now — Charlie Weasley  _ had that look _ .”

* * *

 

It was a week before Hermione’s day was disturbed again by the aggravated tone of Charlie Weasley.

“Pages, I need you!” He called out as she walked towards him, eyeing the blood dripping along the side of his neck. 

“What happened to you now, Charlie?” She asked, picking up his chart. It was hard to look him directly in the eye considering Pansy’s final word on the  _ Charlie is in love with you  _ matter so she concentrated on the clipboard in her hand instead. 

“Just a scratch,” he quipped. “It only needs a plaster.”

_ I-I can’t do this. _

“Then why do I have to be summoned everytime you’re admitted, Charlie? Hmm? The staff here are more than capable of looking after you.”

“Don’t you want to see me, Pages?”

“Of course I—”

She stopped. Charlie reached out to take her hand. 

“Pages—”

Hermione stepped backwards, catching the eye of an intern and handing over Charlie’s file. 

“Healer Bakunawa will tend to your cuts, Charlie. I’ve more serious injuries to attend to.”

She turned around and headed towards the door, blinking rapidly.

“Pages! Please! I-I need your help.”

Hermione stopped at the door, turning slowly to face him. 

“No, you don’t.”

“I do, really.  _ Please _ .”

Charlie looked… almost vulnerable. It was unnerving; Hermione was so used to the tall and muscular Weasley who laughed his way out of danger. She was accustomed to seeing his dark red hair framing his handsome face, his baby blue eyes sparkling in the light, and his dragon tattoos prowling around his tanned skin. But now? He looked almost lost. In need.

Hermione bit her lip before nodding slowly.

“I’m off duty in an hour. Meet me in the cafeteria.”

* * *

 

He found her sitting in a small booth beside a magical window that was currently showing a view of a North Sea oil rig. 

“It’s only instant,” she began, sliding a takeaway coffee over to him. “I asked them to put in two heaped teaspoons.”

“Thank you,” he replied, sitting down. 

The silence was as loud as a the roar of a Romanian Longhorn. They sipped their coffees quietly, Hermione gripping her paper cup tightly to conceal her trembling hands. Charlie continued to stare at a lonely crumb on the table in front of him. 

“Pages, I think I—”

“Why do you come here, Charlie? Hmm? Your dragon sanctuary has a really high tech medical facility, according to Pansy. So  _ why _ do you insist on being treated at St Mungo’s? Do you enjoy wasting my time?”

She almost spat out the last sentence causing Charlie to look up sharply. 

“Of course not, I—”

“You turn up with injuries that could easily be treated on-site,” she continued, not letting him speak. “ _ And _ you start asking questions about sore throats and treatments but won’t give me any details as to why. You ask for my help but won’t give me anything in return. So pardon me if I’m a little  _ bloody suspicious _ , Charlie!”

What she didn’t include was the fact that his presence brought back every feeling she had for him and Hermione couldn’t bear the heartache anymore. She had listened to Pansy’s theory but didn’t believe it. Why would Charlie be in love with her? They weren’t in the same league — or  _ weyr _ , if she wanted to use the correct dragonological reference. She had studied the topic — just out of interest, of course.

He sat back and took a deep breath. “Can we get out of here?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“We need to talk.”

This was it. This was the moment where Charlie Weasley explained he was in love with another dragonologist in Romania who had a figure to die for, hair that behaved, loved strong coffee, and currently had a very sore throat.

“Okay.” She stood up slowly, bracing herself for the hurt that was definitely coming. “There’s a park around the corner. It’s in Muggle London, if that’s alright?”

Charlie quickly transfigured his T-shirt into a long-sleeved jumper to hide his moving dragons and quietened them down with a quick  _ Silencio _ . 

“Lead the way,” he grinned, gesturing for her to walk in front. 

Hermione was painfully aware of his closeness as they walked along the corridors towards the exit. She’d never walked out these particular doors before and was mortified to notice this part of the hospital was charmed to look like a sex shop. She kept her eyes firmly on the ground and tried to block out Charlie’s addictive laugh which boomed across the street as she ran on ahead. 

“Pages, wait!” He called, running to catch up with her. “We can’t talk if I’m chasing you!”

Hermione sighed and stopped walking. Charlie was beside her in an instant, grabbing her hand and wrapping it around his muscular arm. He smiled down at her, a smile that spread to his eyes and brightened them even more. She was lost.  _ Again. _

“That’s better,” he said softly. “Let’s go.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the warm feeling of the sun, before Charlie eventually cleared his throat. 

“If anyone finds out about this, I could lose my job,” he began. “So, I’m asking you to keep this to yourself, Pages.”

_ Ah, okay. There must be a rule about not dating colleagues. _

“I’m… em… I guess you could say there’s a new girl in my life.”

_ Ten points to Hermione Granger.  _

“I see.” She nearly choked on the words.

“She’s quite young so I’m really not supposed to—”

_ An age gap? No wonder he wants to keep it private. _

“I understand,” Hermione mumbled. “What’s her name?”

“I call her Grace.”

_ Hmm… no doubt she has some unpronounceable Romanian name so he’s chosen an endearing moniker for her.  _

“Lovely,” she replied, trying to put some enthusiasm behind the word. 

“I keep her in my quarters. No one else knows about her about the moment—”

_ Okaaay… that’s unexpected. Perhaps Charlie kidnapped her and Unpronounceable Grace has developed Stockholm Syndrome so now they’re madly in love but Charlie can’t tell anyone about her as Interpol and their wizarding counterparts are searching across Europe for her. And now she has a sore throat.  _

“Why are you keeping her a secret, Charlie?”

“Because of her age and I’m not supposed to be taking care of her, you see.”

_ Taking care? Is that what he thinks he’s doing? Poor Charlie, he’s obviously disturbed in some way and we never realised. I’ll need to be careful here... _

“What can I do to help?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve guessed by now she has developed a really sore throat and it’s making her irritable. The first few days were alright, I just let her rest and drink plenty of liquids but, as her throat got worse, she got quite agitated. Hence the burn on my shoulder —”

_ Oh, my God! She has violent tendencies! _

“— but I couldn’t go to our medical centre as they’d ask too many questions. I immediately thought of you.”

_ But not in the way I’d like you to think of me. _

“I got one of my friends to organise a Portkey to get me to St Mungo’s but, if they ever find out what I’ve done, I’m finished.”

_ Yeah, well, kidnapping is against the law afterall.  _

By now, they were strolling through the park Hermione had mentioned and Charlie guided her towards a park bench by the empty bandstand.

“She’s an orphan. By right, we’re supposed to ignore them and let them fend for themselves. If they survive, great. If they don’t, that’s their tough.”

_ What?! Surely Molly and Arthur didn’t raise the Weasleys like that! _

Hermione’s face must have spoke a thousand words so Charlie hurried on.

“I don’t agree with it, Pages. I couldn’t leave her alone. If you saw her… she’s so beautiful —  pale, almost white—”

_ Ugh. Go marry a fucking Malfoy so! _

— and being from Whitby, she’s so rare. How my bosses thought they could just leave her, I mean she’s just a baby!”

Hermione started to choke, causing Charlie to smack her on the back. Not realising his own strength, he almost threw her into the pond.

“She’s… she’s a  _ what? _ ” Hermione gasped.

Charlie frowned. “She’s a Whitby Wyrm, Pages. And so bloody rare! Why? What did you think I was talking about?”

“A dragon, of course,” she replied, a little too quickly.  _ “Duh!” _

He sighed, leaning forward and burying his face in his hands. Hermione waited a moment before placing her fingers lightly on his hunched shoulder.

“What can I do?” She repeated, a little less tense this time.

Charlie sat back up and turned to look at her. Hermione’s heart almost leapt out of her chest at the intensity behind his stunning blue eyes.

“I will not give up on her, no matter what my bosses will say when they find out. I can’t keep her inside forever. I was considering contacting you for help when she burned my shoulder so I ended up with you anyway. But the sage and echinacea didn’t solve the problem. I tried the boiled sweets but she hiccuped when I was dropping one into her mouth. Hence, the burns. Do you think we could try this tea you mentioned?”

“Charlie, I’d do anything for you but I can’t help with the tea. It’s exclusive to St Mungo’s and there’s no way I could obtain a prescription for a dragon. I’d be laughed out of the dispensary.”  _ If only you knew that I’d do anything for you.  _

“Can’t we make it ourselves?” His pleading look tugged at her already weakening heart.

“One of the ingredients is not available on the open market, Charlie. I can’t—” 

“Then I’ll bloody steal it!” He growled, jumping up and pacing in front of her. “I won’t let anything happen to Grace.  _ I won’t,  _ Pages. These dragons are not as strong as the others, that’s why they’re left to die. Her immune system can’t fight a fucking sore throat.  _ I need you to help me!” _

Hermione watched a tear slide down Charlie’s cheek. Biting her lip, she stood and reached for his hand as he paced by. 

“Okay,” she said quietly. “We need to go to the Apothecary in Diagon Alley first to get what we need. Then we can return to the hospital.”

* * *

 

An hour later, they were back in St Mungo’s with their shrunken purchases hidden in Hermione’s pocket. The hospital wards could identify Disillusionment Charms so Hermione had to rely on her knowledge of Healers’ rounds and quieter corridors to get herself and Charlie to the stores. It took some time as they had to hide behind a few doors in order to avoid enquiring looks. At one stage, they took shelter in a small nook hidden by a tapestry of St Mungo when he and his best mate Jerry put a band together in the 1970s and had a massive hit with  _ In The Summertime _ . His mutton chops were the size of kidney dishes.

Eventually, they arrived at the entrance to the store room. Hermione whispered the password —  _ Rumpleteazer _ — and slipped inside. Charlie followed, shutting the door carefully behind him. The room was about the size of the Great Hall at Hogwarts with no windows and an endless amount of shelving. The ceiling, however, was  _ not _ at cathedral height — the top two rows of shelves were stacked with paper files — so everything was at Charlie’s eye level or below. 

“What do we need?” He asked quietly.

Hermione had already begun searching through the first row of shelves. 

“The recipe calls for liquorice root, elm inner bark, marshmallow root — which we have. We're looking for Glycyrrhizin—” 

“ _ What? _ ” 

She turned back to him, an impatient expression across her face. “ _ Glycyrrhizin _ . It’s an aqueous extract of liquorice root. It’s side effects can be quite harmful so it’s not on the open market. The root itself is harmless but—”

“I get it,” Charlie laughed. “Don’t go all professor on me. I can’t keep up with that phenomenal brain of yours.”

Hermione blushed, hiding her face in a box of incontinence pads.

They spent almost an hour rooting through boxes and reading the labels on every bottle, jar, and bucket they came across. 

“This is ridiculous!” Hermione spat. “What sort of system do they have in here? It’s not alphabetized, dated, sectioned; it’s not even colour co-ordinated! Who the fuck set this up?”

“Pages.” Charlie reached out, putting his hands gently on her shoulders and turning her around to face him. “It’s alright. If the… whatever the fuck it’s called is used here in the hospital then we’ll find it. We still have two shelves to go. Good thing is, if there's no proper filing system, they shouldn't miss the… stuff.”

The sound of the door opening had Hermione’s sharp intake of breath echoing around the spacious room. She froze, staring at Charlie with panic flickering across her features.

“What do we— ”

Charlie took matters into his own hands. Pulling Hermione towards him, he crashed his lips down on hers and wound his fingers into her hair. 

She froze, stunned by his forceful advance before realising he was disguising their real reason for being in the store room in the first place. Her heart almost cracked under the pressure of knowing that this was pretend but, in order to keep up appearances, Hermione kissed him back.

It was passionate, just as she knew it would be. And if this was the only time she’d ever experience the touch of Charlie Weasley, then Hermione Granger was going to give an Oscar-winning performance. 

She moaned, sliding her tongue against his lower lip and caressing his face with the tips of her fingers. Charlie’s skin was hardened by outdoor living, his scars standing out against the softness of her touch. Hermione felt his hands slide down to her neck and shoulders as she reached up on her toes to deepen the already intoxicating kiss.

“Oh, my! I’m so sorry, I’ll just—”

Charlie slowly pulled away and turned to witness a rather red-faced Healer Bakunawa backing up towards the door. 

He raised an eyebrow at the fumbling witch as Hermione sheepishly peeked out from under his arm. 

“Charlie’s Portkey leaves for Romania in an hour.” She made sure her tone sounded a little morose. “We hardly get any time together, you see—”

“Say no more,” the other witch quipped, waving her hands in front of her. “I wasn’t here. I’ll stick one of those  _ Delousing in Progress  _ signs on the door and give you two a bit of peace.”

With a friendly wink, she was gone.

Charlie looked down at Hermione, his eyes full of mischief. “Well done!”

She bit her lip, a flush spreading across her cheeks. Hermione couldn’t look him in the eye; all of her feelings would be revealed to him if she did. Staring at the shelf above his right shoulder, she waited for him to step back and casually comment that she should have been on the stage.

“Pages…” he began, raising his hand as if to caress her cheek.

“There it is!” she exclaimed, moving quickly out of his embrace and pulling down a large jar from the shelf in front of her. “We shouldn’t need much.”

Charlie sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Can we—”

“This amount should do—”

“I think—”

“I’ll write down—”

“Please—”

“Must be a quill around here—”

_ "Hermione!” _

She froze. Charlie had never called her by her given name. It sounded so foreign yet it was what he always called her in her fantasies.

“Charlie, please don’t—”

“Don’t what?” He demanded, taking the two steps to invade her space again. “ _ Don’t what?  _ Question why you won’t look me in the eye? Okay, we kissed to avoid an awkward situation but am I really that repulsive—”

_ “What? NO!” _

“Then look at me.” He coaxed her face upwards with his finger under her chin. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you? How hard it’s been to leave the hospital without telling you how much I want you? Or spend holidays at The Burrow knowing you’re there but out of my reach?  _ My league? _ Merlin, I’m sorry but I can’t keep it to myself anymore.”

Hermione’s eyes filled with tears at his words. How long had she dreamt of this moment? Hadn’t she imagined a romantic Italian setting; a midnight cruise around the Venetian canals, lying in his arms, listening to his voice as he whispered words of love and desire. Instead, she heard him express his attraction to her in the store room of St Mungo’s which was currently — to all intents and purposes — being deloused. It was music to her ears.

“Your league, Charlie?” She whispered. “I-I don’t understand.”

He pulled her close, tucking her tight to his body and wrapping her in his embrace. 

“You’re brilliant, Hermione Granger. You could change the world. You could have anyone you wanted fall at your feet in awe of you. Why would you want a dragon tamer who has nothing to offer? You deserve the fortune of a Mal—”

_“NO!”_ She pulled away from him forcefully. “ _No!_ Do you know what I want, Charlie? Do you know what I’ve wanted for _years?_ _YOU!_ I’ve wanted _you!_ ”

“Why?” He whispered, his strength of character diminished. “I’m not worth your attention.”

Hermione wiped a stray tear from her cheek and took a deep breath. 

“Charlie, can we get out of here? Take me home with you and I’ll help with Grace. Can we talk then?”

He nodded and took her hand. “What about your job?”

“Weekend off,” she shrugged, smiling shyly. “I’m all yours.”

* * *

 

They Apparated to his quarters at the Dragon Sanctuar. The heat was stifling compared to London’s damp climate and Hermione could feel her silk blouse sticking to her underneath her Healer’s uniform. Shedding the outer coat, she looked around the room: it was basically a studio apartment with a large balcony overlooking the main compound and the rugged terrain beyond. Snoring away in the corner of the living area was the tiny baby dragon that had captured Charlie’s heart.

“She’ll be awake within the hour,” he observed, checking his watch. “Can we get the tea brewed in that time?”

“Yes,” Hermione answered. “If you can cut up the liquorice and marshmallow roots, I’ll grate the bark and add this.” She waved the small vial of Glycyrrhizin at him. “You could also make me one of those coffees you like so much.”

“Not a hope!” He smiled. “You’re too pure for that. One Butterbeer coming up.”

Within forty minutes, they had the tea ready in an adapted baby bottle Charlie had transfigured from an old copy of Wicked Witches magazine, swearing Ron must have left it behind the last time he came to stay. 

“We need to give a Calming Draught straight after the tea,” Hermione suddenly announced, her nerves still on edge. “I forgot to get one!”

“I have plenty here for her,” Charlie replied. “I’ve kept Grace asleep for most of the past week.”

“What are you going to do with her?” Hermione asked as she watched the tiny creature stir awake.

“I have a friend in New Zealand who wants to take her but I’m not sure she’ll be comfortable in the hot weather. If she regains her strength over the next month or so, I’ll send her to Sweden. I’ve another friend there who’ll look after her until she’s a fully grown adult. Then she can come back here to the Sanctaur and no one will ever know she was here before.”

He walked over to Grace’s specialised bedding and picked her up. Carefully holding the tiny dragon so her snorts shot mini flames outwards, he cooed in her ear. 

“Hey, Grace. This is Hermione and she’s made some tea that will make you all better. You have to be nice to her, okay? Because I’ve been in love with her for years and, after you go back asleep, I’m going to show her exactly how much. So drink up, yeah?”

He held his hand out for the flameproof baby bottle that was trembling slightly in Hermione’s hands. She stepped forward, her hand touching his as she proffered the drink and watched him settle onto the couch and cuddle the dragon like a newborn. He caught her eye after a few moments; his smile sent her pounding heart into overdrive.

_ He’s-he’s in love with me.  _

“Yes, I am.” It was as if he read her mind. “Don’t overanalyse it, Pages. I just didn’t think you’d ever want me in that way. I always figured you’d end up with one of the rich Slytherins.”

“I had a chance with Theo Nott,” she replied, sitting down beside him and watching Grace’s wings flutter gently. “But I couldn’t love him, no matter how hard I tried.”

Hermione reached down to her favourite black wedges, fiddling with the buckle as she spoke.

“I always closed my eyes and pretended it was you. Theo didn’t deserve that.”

“Merlin, Pages. If only we—”

“I know, Charlie,” Hermione sighed, handing him Grace’s Calming Draught. 

They sat in silence until the baby dragon nodded off again, her smoky breath wafting from her tiny nostrils.

Charlie lifted himself slowly from the couch and carefully lowered Grace onto her bedding. He caressed her head for a moment before standing and wandlessly cleaning his hands. Hermione remained on the couch, her black wedges still demanding her undivided attention. 

“Pages,” Charlie spoke softly. “Come here.”

She slipped off her shoes and stood up, slowly raising her eyes to see him standing in front of her. Hermione reached forward and slipped her hand into his, allowing him to pull her into his arms. 

“You were so young when we met,” he murmured, ghosting his lips across hers. “But I’ve watched you grow into the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. I thought of approaching you when you turned seventeen but Ginny told me you were with one of the Ravenclaw prefects. Then the next time I’d plucked up the courage to ask you out, you were in a relationship — I guess that was Nott. I just assumed I’d never have a chance with you.”

Hermione tenderly kissed his lips before placing her cheek against his. 

“They weren’t you, Charlie,” she replied. “They never stood a chance.”

“Take that chance with me now, Hermione.” His voice husky near her ear. “Stay.”

She didn’t answer; her actions spoke a thousand words.

Hermione stepped away from Charlie’s embrace and reached up to the top buttons of her blouse. Not taking her eyes from his, she slowly began to undo each one. 

“I don’t want to go anywhere,” she whispered. 

With a moan, Charlie ripped away his T-shirt to reveal his roaring dragons. A swipe of his hand had them instantly sleeping, leaving him breathing heavily in front of her. His muscles were tense with need, taut with the desire to grab Hermione and hold her up against the wall whilst fucking her delicate body. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his breath.

“Charlie?” Hermione spoke quietly, dropping her blouse onto the couch before moving forward to glide her fingertips across his smooth chest. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replied, his hands fisting at his sides. “Everything. I need you too much. I’m trying to—”

“Shh,” she cooed. “I want you. Take me.”

Charlie growled, grasping her face in his hands and pouring all of the emotion he could into the kiss that followed. Hermione tugged at the leather thong that held his thick red hair securely at the base of his neck, pulling her fingers through it as she tried to climb further towards his lips; to deepen a kiss that had set their bodies on fire. 

His hands moved to her pencil skirt, fingers searching to find the narrow zip holding it in place. Hermione gasped as his hands caressed her lower back, sliding downwards over her cheeks as he tugged at the zip. She felt the soft material pool at her feet but, before Hermione could lift her foot to step away from the skirt, Charlie hauled her up effortlessly. 

He broke their kiss only to slide his lips along her jaw, her neck, along her collarbone. By now, Hermione’s arms and legs were wrapped tightly around him, her head thrown back to allow him greater access to her flushed skin. Merlin, she never wanted him to stop. Fire burned in her core, causing her to push her body forward and rub herself against his stomach. 

“My witch is wet,” he murmured. “So turned on.”

“Charlie,” she panted, sliding against him in desperation. “Make me… need to come.”

“Over and over,” he promised, grabbing the waistband of her cotton thong and yanking it away from her body. Hermione cried out, the sting of the material whipping against her skin left a burning sensation that lingered, but she didn’t care; she was exposed, dripping, swollen… desperate. 

Still holding her tight and relishing the feel of her wetness sliding against his skin, Charlie raised his head to gaze at her. She was a sight to behold: panting, flushed… his. He could barely keep it together. 

“Get it off,” he growled, his eyes glancing at her bra. “I want you naked.”

Even his voice turned her on; the command brought the sensation within her womb to new heights. She didn’t think he’d need to touch her — if he looked at her clit, she’d come screaming. 

Hermione reached behind her to undo the clasp of her bra, confident that Charlie’s strong arms would protect her. He sucked in his breath when the lace fell forward, exposing her completely to him. 

“Beautiful,” he whispered, raising his eyes to hers. “So fucking beautiful. And mine.”

“Charlie, please…”

“Hold me,” he ordered, smirking as she obeyed instantly and wrapped her arms around his neck. Moans of pleasure escaped from both of them as her tight nipples brushed against his hardened chest. 

Charlie moved away from the wall, his cheek resting against hers. 

“Please,” she begged again, her core pulsing wildly. “Charlie...”

He walked over to his bed and, placing one knee onto the soft mattress, moved his body forward to lay Hermione gently down. It reminded her of the way he cared for Grace, as if she was precious cargo. He immediately captured one of her breasts in his mouth, sucking hard until he heard his witch cry out. She bucked beneath him, her head back and eyes firmly closed, almost sobbing with need. 

Charlie kept kissing her breasts, rolling his tongue around her taut nipples, pulling on her skin. One hand on the mattress, just beside Hermione’s head, kept him from collapsing on top of her as the other reached down to the part of her body where she craved his touch the most. 

He grazed his fingers across her swollen folds — once, twice, three times — she screamed as she came, coating the hand which continued to caress her as he stared, mesmerized by the look of pure ecstasy on her face. 

“You’re a vision,” he commented, watching her come down from her high. “I want to watch you orgasm again and again.”

Hermione’s breathing calmed and she smiled up at him, reaching out to run her hand along his stubbled cheek. 

“It’s only ever been you,” she replied, smiling. “You’re the only man who has ever made me come. Even if you were only in my head.”

“The only time I’ll be in your head now is when we’re apart,” he promised. “But it’ll only be to imagine what will happen the next time we’re together. I’m not letting you go, Hermione. You’re mine now.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“So you should.”

Charlie stood up, towering over her naked form. He toed off his boots and quickly removed his socks, stumbling slightly in the process.

“It’s not fucking sexy trying to get socks off,” he laughed, easing the tension that was building up again between them. Standing upright, he reached for his belt.

“No.” Hermione’s hand shot out to stop him. “Let me.”

She knelt up, keeping her legs apart to ease the pressure building again between her folds. Charlie stood still, his arms by his sides, as she pulled his belt back to release the buckle. It fell away, followed quickly by the button of his jeans and the zip. 

“I’ll be more gentle.” She winked up at him before pushing his jeans and boxers down towards his knees. His erection stood proud before her face: long, wide, hard, and dripping. It took her breath away. Hermione wrapped a hand around him and pulled slightly, earning a gasp from him as he ran his fingers along her cheeks. 

“Pages—”

He didn’t get any further. Placing her free hand on his hip to steady herself, Hermione licked along his length before taking him in her mouth. Charlie moaned, his hands automatically moving around to the back of her head and guiding her forward and back. Her tongue flickered around the head of his erection before sucking hard on the swollen skin, cheeks hollowed as she pulled him deeper into her mouth to feel him tip the back of her throat. Her core was soaking again, dripping just like him. 

Hermione took her hand away from his length, holding it only with her mouth. Charlie could hardly breathe at the erotic sight of Hermione Granger sucking him off. It took all of his mental strength to maintain his dignity and not spurt into her mouth like a fourteen-year-old. But what she did next had him reciting the potion to prevent tooth decay over and over again. 

She reached down to her slick folds and gathered the moisture on the tips of her fingers before reaching up to slide the coated digits along his lips like a balm. All the while, she continued to lick and suck his erection without breaking her stride. Her hands then moved to her breasts, and she began to massage them deeply, moaning against him as she tugged at her nipples. 

Charlie couldn’t stand it any longer. Waving his hand once, his jeans and boxers joined his socks and boots on the floor. A second wave had Hermione back against the pillows, her legs open and her glistening core exposed for him. 

“Charlie,” she gasped, the shock of the sudden movement catching her breath. “What—”

“Need you now,” he growled, on top of her in an instant. “I can’t… I love you.”

With those words he slid inside her, watching her close her eyes in pure bliss before lowering his face to hers. He kissed her like a man possessed before moving slowly in and out, relishing the feel of her core against his erection. 

“You feel so good,” he whispered against her lips. “I’ve dreamt of you… wanted you for so long.”

The emotion of having Charlie Weasley inside her, making love to her, almost brought Hermione to tears.

“I love you so much, Charlie,” she nearly sobbed. “I love you.”

They moved as one, holding each other close as the sensations brought them to new heights of passion. It wasn’t long before their love making become something more, something primal. Charlie roared as he took her, sweat pouring from his body. He rolled them over, holding her on top of him as Hermione instantly lifted herself up before slamming back down onto him. The different position had her moaning loudly as she ran trembling hands through the hair sticking to her damp skin as it shone in the sunlight engulfing the large room. 

“Hermione,” Charlie groaned, his thumb guiding her to another orgasm. Feeling Hermione clench around him — her muscles quivering rapidly — brought on his own release, and his bruising grip on her hips as he came had her also crying out his name. 

Minutes passed before they spoke again; Hermione collapsed down on top of Charlie’s chest, gasping for air. He could do nothing but hold her close, their gleaming bodies rapidly cooling. A whispered  _ Accio _ summoned a soft blanket to cover them both as they lay there, neither willing to move away. 

“Are you alright?” Charlie asked after a while, letting those three words speak volumes: was that okay? Do you still want me? Am I enough? 

“I’m more than alright.” Hermione raised her head to look directly at him. “This is perfect.  _ You’re _ perfect.”

“Tell me you love me.” He tenderly ran a finger down her nose, smiling warmly at her. 

“I love you, Charlie.”

“I love you, Pages.”

She lowered her head onto his shoulder, her breathing falling into sync with his own. They both drifted off to a peaceful sleep, the only other sound in the room being the gentle snores of their saving Grace in the corner.

_ Fin _

 

 


End file.
